


to and from sleep

by meanderingsoul



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Relationship, F/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Romantic Fluff, Routine, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-22
Updated: 2019-01-22
Packaged: 2019-10-14 10:35:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17506967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meanderingsoul/pseuds/meanderingsoul
Summary: Jack startled a little when Phryne let out a disgruntled huff at the ceiling.





	to and from sleep

 

It was rare they ended up in the same bed at the same time more than once in a week, but that was something they’d had to become accustomed to.

Phryne preferred not to rise before nine when she didn’t have a case, later if she’d been up til the witching hours. Jack knew he’d feel odd the rest of the day if he wasn’t awake by seven, though he could be convinced to go back to sleep if he didn’t have to work. Easily convinced these days.

That wasn’t to say they didn’t frequently sleep together. It was no longer so strange to fall asleep in her boudoir while she was still downstairs, to wake up halfway later on to the cold tip of her nose against his shoulder. It didn’t wake him anymore when she let herself into his home after a night out. Usually. Drink made her somewhat clumsy, though it seemed to have little other effect. And she’d never failed to let him inside when he’d found he couldn’t manage to sleep alone and gave up, rapped at her window until she woke to let him in the upstairs door in her dressing gown.

Still, nights like this Jack held precious.

Tonight they’d lingered over dinner, then the details of an upcoming court case, then either one too many rounds of mancala or one too many whiskeys finally had him yawning before he could hide it.

Phryne peered at the clock, pretending her eyes were any more alert than his. “It seems to be past your bedtime young man.”

Jack grinned, trying not to yawn again. “No need for flattery Miss Fisher,” he said but she only glowered.

There was a familiar warmth now to following her upstairs in the dark, to scrubbing his hair and teeth while she changed half-hidden by the screen in the corner, to laying his clothes neatly over the chaise and opening one window for the evening breeze before he climbed into her bed.

Jack was already half asleep in the lamplight and quite content with his lot, watching her strip the day’s lipstick and powders from her face, rub lotion into her pale skin, routines without artifice. He wasn’t an audience to perform for anymore unless it suited her.

Phryne turned off the lamp and crawled to his waiting arms under the sheets, pressed her mouth to his tenderly.

Falling asleep half-under her had turned into one of his favorite things.

But their kisses lingered, still gentle and eyes closed in the dark, but warm and slick, the sweet curl of her tongue into his mouth. Drowsy as he was, it was still heating his blood.

When he felt her tense, her body pressing against his side in a rolling shudder, he shoved his pajamas down and rolled over her, elbows and knees.

She was bare beneath her nightdress as was her wont, and he rocked against her slowly, warm welcome, silk rubbing between her breasts and his chest, her hands warm on his arms while they kissed until she pulled away to nod against the side of his face.

Jack slid his hand under his back, pressed into her in increments, the snug wet velvet of her, aware of little save for that sensation and the soft sounds she was making against his open mouth. This was as close as he could get to her, clasped inside her and her arms tight around his waist, thighs soft around his hips, breath on his jaw until he caught her lips again with a faint whine.

They’d moved quickly into this, but it stayed languid. Easy. He knew how to brace her hips at just the right angle for them, how the way she’d grind back against him in little circles would rub her calves against the backs of his thighs. How it would make him want to shiver. How the whole world smelled like her just now.

It was warm here like a dream, the sheet against his back, dim enough he could just make out the smudge of her lashes against her cheeks.

She let out a sharp gasp, fingers clutching at his shoulders just before he felt that stuttering squeeze around him inside her, a jolt running through her muscles and the hot tension in him unwound in a rush, had him bury his close-mouthed moan against her shoulder.

Jack pressed kisses against her breastbone, nuzzled into her tousled hair while he caught his breath, felt her fingers trailing an absent rhythm against his throat, her lips brush his cheek. Eventually he rolled onto his back with a sigh.

He should really set his pajama bottoms to rights. Or he should get up to fetch them a flannel before he dozed off. It didn’t seem like she was planning to move yet. Phryne mostly slept on her belly like a starfish. He usually woke with a smooth limb or two flung over him, or sometimes shoved underneath.

Jack startled a little when Phryne let out a disgruntled huff at the ceiling.

“That was the most scandalous thing I’ve done since I’ve been back in Melbourne,” she said flatly. “Can you just _imagine_ if word got round? Under the covers at night with the lights off and _missionary_. I’ll be ruined. We didn’t even make any noise. My damn nightdress is still on.”

Jack was facedown in a pillow trying not to wake the street with laughing halfway through her speech. By the time he was wheezing for air he heard the thrum of her amusement low in her throat, felt a hand reach over to rub gently along his back.

On his third attempt he finally managed, “I... ah, I’m sure I can be discreet.”

“Mmm. As you should. This is our little secret,” she purred, rolling to fling an arm across his chest.

Jack carefully bent up the arm she’d pinned between them to curl his fingers around her bicep. “Was it not…”

He’d learned quite a few new things over the last months, which he’d expected. Of course he’d expected that. He’d also learned so much about things he’d experienced and never had the words for, which he hadn’t expected at all. Phryne’s curiosity and enthusiasm for sex did not end outside the actual act.

And really, all the nude art and banned literature in her house should have informed him of that long ago.

But one of the things he’d learned that had been perhaps the biggest illumination was how it felt in the moment didn’t always matter near as much as how it felt after. Things he adored and disliked that had made no sense for so long. The infinite variety of the species which made it so things he did for one lover he avoided for the other.

Phryne’s leg crept over his with a heavy finality. “It was lovely,” she mumbled. “Don’t ever tell anyone.”

Jack kissed her face and let the rhythm of her breathing put him to sleep in seconds.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I kept cracking myself up with the idea of Phryne getting pouty about thoroughly enjoying some vanilla, missionary sex (not that I think she never does that, but still) so this fic happened. I hope it's as humorous in text form as it was in my brain <3
> 
> (Title is from Rilke, because Jack, that lit nerd, is making me actually work for my titles.)


End file.
